


The Westerlies

by ml101



Series: Prevailing Wind [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, F/M, Hurt Mycroft Holmes, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, Protective Mycroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ml101/pseuds/ml101
Summary: He knew the other man had experience in dealing with life threatening situations, and had faced a barrel of a gun more than times than Lestrade. He knew the many scars that marked that elegant body -- of course the bloody idiot was going to add another one if it meant saving his younger brother from harm.What if someone else jumped in front of Sherlock when Vivian Norbury fired her gun? How will that one act change the future Mycroft and Greg were planning to have with each other?
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Series: Prevailing Wind [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799707
Comments: 15
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Second of the many stories revolving around that one idea that seem to not want to be ignored. What if Mycroft Holmes pushed Sherlock and Mary out of the way when Norbury shot Sherlock? How would that change the events of Series 4.
> 
> As I've said in the first story of the series, it's a series because the idea has morphed into many versions since Series 4 aired. This second one will be a Mystrade Series 4.

Chapter 1

“Come on,” began Lestrade, pointing towards Vivian Norbury. “Be sensible.”

But Greg Lestrade knew from the look on her face that nothing could be said that would change her mind. Lestrade’s hand went to the gun on his hip.

“No,” replied Vivian Norbury, as he predicted. “I don’t think so.”

Lestrade drew his gun but it was too late, Norbury had already fired. No, Sherlock--

But something else made his eyes widen in panic. He knew the older Holmes had been an agent. He knew the other man had experience in dealing with life threatening situations, and had faced a barrel of a gun more than times than Lestrade. He knew the many scars that marked that elegant body -- of course the bloody idiot was going to add another one if it meant saving his younger brother from harm.

“MYCROFT!” He heard himself shouting as the older Holmes pushed Sherlock and Mary out of the way.

No, no, no -- this wasn’t happening. Two of the guards immediately went over and disarmed the older woman as Greg finally reached Mycroft’s side.

“My…” whispered Greg as he gently turned the other man to lay on his back. Mycroft’s eyes were open but they seemed to see past Greg. The crimson stain on Mycroft’s shirt grew by the second and Greg’s hands immediately went to apply pressure.

“Get an ambulance!” He heard Sherlock say from somewhere.

“Greg...ory.”

Greg felt all the air leave his lungs as he turned to meet Mycroft’s eye. “Hey, everything’s fine.” He swallowed the growing lump in his throat as he applied more pressure on the wound. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He felt someone place a hand on his shoulder and he quickly turned to see John who immediately went to kneel on Mycroft’s other side. “Keep applying pressure.”

John turned to the younger Holmes. “Coat.” Sherlock obliged quickly and eased it behind his brother’s head. “Stay with us, Mycroft.”

Mycroft did not turn to look at any of them. His gaze was only on one person. “Sherlock, give Greg a hand.”

Greg felt Sherlock pushed down on the wound, giving him space to take Mycroft’s hand in his own. “Ambulance is on its way, My. You just have to--”

“Look...after him,” said Mycroft, his gaze far away from the Ice Man he showed to the world. “Don’t -- no bad day -- not for this.”

“Brother, don’t,” whispered Sherlock, giving his brother a glare but his voice betrayed his true emotions at seeing his brother bleeding on the ground.

“Promise...me.”

“Mycroft, please,” said Greg, leaning over to kiss the man’s forehead. “Just--you have to hold on.”

It couldn’t end like this. Things were finally going their way. Sherlock wasn’t going to his death somewhere in Europe. He and John were solving cases this time with Mary. He and Mycroft were finally getting more time to spend with each other--

“Please,” came the cry and Greg felt the first tear fall. He grasped Mycroft’s hand tighter in his. 

“I promise.”

Mycroft gave him a weak reply as he moved his gaze to his brother. “Sher--”

“Stop talking and save your strength, Mycroft,” replied Sherlock sharply. “You are not going to die and that’s--”

“--rinford,” whispered Mycroft. “Ask about...Sherrinford.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in confusion as did Greg’s and John but finally they could hear the approach of the medical team and Greg felt a huge sigh of relief as Mycroft’s eyes met his once more.

“I’m...sorry.”

“Mycroft…” but the words he had to say died in his throat as he felt the other man’s hand go limp in his. “Mycroft!”

Anthea and the medical team finally arrived and someone was trying to pull him away. He reached for Mycroft but John and Sherlock held him back. “Mycroft!”

“You have to let them do their job, Greg.” whispered John as the medical team worked on Mycroft. Anthea ushered them out of the way.

“I have to--”

“Let them do their job,” repeated John with a knowing look.

“I can’t lose him,” whispered Greg, covering his face with his hands as the tears flowed freely. John and Mary ushered him to sit on one of the benches. “I can’t lose him.”

“You won’t,” replied Mary, as she and John tried to comfort him.

“It was supposed to be me.”

All three of them turned to look at Sherlock, whose gaze was solemn, as he kept his head bowed and eyed the floor. “I mocked her into shooting me.”

“And I jumped in front of you.” pointed out Mary sharply. “It should have been me.”

“What?!” said John turning sharply to look at his wife.

“But Mycroft pushed us both out of the way,” continued Mary without acknowledging the glare John was giving her. “Because you mean a lot to us, Sherlock. I was ready to take a bullet for you. Me who has known you for a couple of years. What more, your brother?”

_I’ll always be there for you._

“It was stupid,” said Sherlock, turning away from them as fresh tears fell from his eyes. “He shouldn’t--”

He angrily wiped away the tears that had fallen, going over what had just transpired over his head. There was something Mycroft had missed. There had to be another way to not have him be wounded and for Mycroft to be perfectly alright. 

If Mycroft had just stayed where he stood, then his brother wouldn’t have been shot. But then he would be injured. If he had moved, no, wait, Mary had already expressed that she had also jumped in front of him. Mary would have been shot if Mycroft hadn’t acted.

No, there had to have been another way where no one was hurt and Norbury would be in custody. Mycroft had missed something and he was going---not that it mattered because his brother was fighting for his damn life because he had pushed him out of harm’s way just as he has been doing for most of their lives.

Sherlock punched the nearest wall--only for his arm to be grabbed by Lestrade.

“Saw the gears turning,” said Greg with a small smile. “Same look that your brother has when he’s thinking too much.”

Sherlock glared at the older man and Greg released his arm. “You were too busy in your mind palace. Anthea said they’ve stabilised him and they're currently breaking all traffic laws to get to the best medical facility.”

Sherlock turned to see John and Mary waiting behind Lestrade. “Come on.”

Sherlock looked back at the Detective Inspector, _Chief_ \- he could hear Mycroft say at the back of his mind - who seemed to have gotten him composure back, even after seeing the man he loved bleeding to death on the floor.

Love? Sherlock eyed Lestrade and knew that deduction was true. There was no doubt in his mind.

“What did he say?”

Greg, John and Mary all turned to look back at Sherlock who had not moved.

“Sherlock?”

“What did he tell me?” asked Sherlock, eyeing Greg the most. “Ask about, what?”

“Sherrinford,” replied Mary before Greg and John could reply or ask Sherlock what he was talking about. “He told you to ask about Sherrinford. Whatever that means.”

“He always had a note with him about Sherrinford,” said Greg, eyeing Sherlock in concern.

“What about Sherrinford?” asked Sherlock.

“Just that. Sherrinford and a time.” said Greg, itching to get a move on. “Sherlock maybe we can discuss this--”

“Why would he tell me that on his deathbed?”

“HE IS NOT DYING!” shouted Greg which made Sherlock flinch and John to place a calming hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Look, let’s just get to the hospital,” said John, providing the voice of reason. “You can go to your mind palace and search for Sherrinford when we’re there, Sherlock.”

John sighed in relief as Sherlock nodded and Greg all but ran out to the waiting car outside. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The drive to the private medical facility was quiet and took ages if you asked Greg Lestrade. Sherlock made no sound and he kept exchanging looks with John.

Anthea had kept in contact. Mycroft had been rushed to surgery as soon as they had arrived. No word yet and apparently they almost lost him on the way over -- he clutched his phone at that. Sherlock gave him one glance but Greg immediately repeated Anthea’s update to ease the younger Holmes’ mind.

Christ.

Greg ran a tired hand over his face. When Mycroft had called earlier asking for help with regards to Sherlock’s latest case, the DCI never imagined that it would conclude like this. He and Mycroft underestimated Vivian Norbury.

He should have looked at it with more focus, instead of concentrating on what to make for dinner and having an early night off for once and actually meeting their dinner plans. He was too focused on getting the case shut that he didn’t take the necessary precautions. Of course the woman had a gun. Of course she would try and shoot Sherlock. Of course Mycroft, being the overprotective brother that he was, would jump in front of Sherlock.

He tightened his grip on his phone, trying to stop himself from throwing the damn thing away. He had stopped Sherlock when the younger man almost broke his hand by trying to punch a wall back at the aquarium. Great show of maturity if he was going to release his anger by throwing a tantrum now.

The car stopped and Greg immediately threw open the door, not at all surprised that Anthea was already there waiting to escort them to wherever they could wait on any word on Mycroft. Anthea remained quiet, eyes focused on her phone, as she led them to some sort of waiting area. No one said a word.

Sherlock sat in the chair on the far side of the door. John and Mary, opting to sit nearer while Greg remained standing. He wasn’t going to pace the room. That was more of Sherlock’s style but he couldn’t possibly sit still.

Times like this that he really did envy the intellect of the Holmes’ brothers. He was pretty sure Sherlock was lost somewhere in his mind palace, trying to figure out Mycroft’s last--Mycroft’s sudden request. [It wasn’t last, damn it--he’s not dying Lestrade!]

That would prove a great distraction.

“Greg, mate.”

He turned to see John looking at him with concern. “Standing or pacing won’t do you any good just as much as it won’t do Mycroft any good knowing you worried yourself to death.”

Greg rolled his eyes. John knew how many times Mycroft had said those words to the DCI. How Lestrade’s constant worrying would push him to an early grave.

“Like I told him a dozen times, that’s not possible,” said Greg.

“Yes it is. Worry and anxiety could spike your blood pressure and we wouldn’t want you having a heart attack, now do we?”

Greg glared and finally conceded to sitting on John’s other side.

“If you want to lecture someone,” began Greg as Mary turned and rolled her eyes at them both.

“Think,” said Mary as John turned to her. “If you can tell me, while looking me straight in the eye, that you wouldn’t have done the same thing -- then feel free to lecture me all you want.” She turned her gaze to the DCI. “You too, Greg.” They avoided her gaze. “Thought so. Every single one of us would have done the same thing. Mycroft just had the advantage of being the tallest.”

Greg ran a tired hand over his face. Mary was right. Pretty sure Mycroft thought the same thing. Given the height difference, the shot would have probably been fatal to Mary and she wouldn’t have lasted before they got her to the hospital. Sherlock may have fared better but there was no way in hell that Mycroft was going to let his younger brother get shot again, not when he could do anything about it. Greg was too far away to have pushed Sherlock out of the way -- but he could have been quicker to draw his own --

“Don’t even think about it Gregory Lestrade,” came the motherly command and Greg raised his hand to meet a very stern Mary Watson. “I saw your hand on your gun, you didn’t hesitate. Vivian Norbury just surprised us all.”

“No good in dealing with what ifs,” began John. “Right now, we have better use of our time.” He stood. “I’m going to try and get an update. Technically, I am one of Mycroft’s official physicians. I should be informed of his medical status.”

But before he could make a step, Anthea appeared in the room with a concerning look on her face. Greg had only seen that expression once, when she told him that Sherlock had shot Magnussen.

“No,” began Greg, dread already settling in his stomach. Anthea was quick to see his expression and shook her head.

“He’s still in surgery,” said Anthea. “This -- the concern for Mr. Holmes, especially regarding his ability to do his job while recuperating has been raised and -- ”

“WHAT?” Three voices echoed, Greg’s voice probably the loudest.

“The man was just shot!” said John in exasperation. Sherlock, finally back in the room with them, stood and walked over to stand opposite Anthea.

“I told you, he’s practically the British Government,” said Sherlock. “Couldn’t Lady Smallwood and Sir Blake handle -- ”

“Raised and dealt with,” finished Anthea, eyeing Sherlock the most. “I’ve been instructed to stand by until he arrives.’

Sherlock’s eyes widened in realization. “He told me to ask about Sherrinford.”

Anthea’s eyes widened in surprise but shook her head after a moment. “I’m sorry Sherlock. I wish you had brought that forward sooner. Every access I have since a few minutes ago is now going to be monitored.”

“What can you tell me?”

“It’s a secure facility that your brother always contacts and asks for an update,” said Anthea quickly. “That’s far as I know -- or rather -- what my clearance dictates I know.”

“Even Mycroft hasn’t told you anything?” asked Sherlock.

“Because he can’t.”

“Who has the authority to actually tell Mycroft Holmes that he can’t?” asked John.

“You’re going to meet him soon,” said Sherlock. He then turned to Anthea. “When is he due?”

“Right now.”

Five heads turned to the voice of a newcomer and Greg felt his heart go right down to his stomach at the person who he had met once and wished to never repeat the experience. “And here I thought we wouldn’t be seeing each other any time soon, Detective Chief Inspector.”

Sherlock gave him a surprised gaze but turned back to the older man.

“Retirement suits you, you gained, what? 3 stones?” said Sherlock, in his usual demeaning manner.

“Oh have I missed your wit, William,” said the elderly gentleman as he walked over to the group. He was a tall, corpulent man with an aquiline nose that bore a striking resemblance to a certain consulting detective. His still, grey eyes shone with amusement as it settled between Sherlock and Greg. “Go on then, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends? You go for that sort of thing, these days? Just like your brother now has a rather handsome silver fox by his arm.”

Sherlock chose to ignore the statement and turned to Greg. “You’ve met before?”

“Because unlike you, Mycroft has manners,” answered the mysterious man. He finally offered his hand to John, seeing as introductions were practically the last thing on either Sherlock and Greg’s minds. He was taller than Sherlock, maybe similar to Mycroft’s height, but he was far stouter than either of the Holmes’ siblings. But when John made eye contact with those eyes that screamed of the intelligence behind them, he made the obvious connection. “Rudy Vernet, a pleasure to finally meet my nephew’s blogger.” 

He turned to look at Mary. “And Mary Watson, frankly I feel like I’ve already met you before.” He smiled, a deadly smile that John was reminded of Moriarty. “Your documentation does you no justice.”

It was a small act, John taking a very measured step right in front Mary, barely moving but it made Rudy Vernet laugh out loud, like Father Christmas only if Father Christmas was a very intelligent and deadly mastermind.

“Well,” said the famous Uncle Rudy, wiping a lone tear of merriment from his eye. “Now that the pleasantries have been dealt with…” He turned back to Sherlock. “Your involvement in this case has concluded. You may go home.”

Sherlock made no move to leave nor spoke any disagreement. “That was predictable.”

Rudy turned to Anthea. “Have the doctors mentioned any more news?”

“None, sir.”

“Your brother will be in surgery for some time, William,” said Rudy, turning back to address his nephew. “Nothing for you to do here. Best use of your time? Go home, freshen up.” He turned to the Watsons. “I’m sure you are eager to get home to your daughter.” He turned and smiled a little too devilishly for Greg’s taste. “You, Detective Chief Inspector, may stay. I’m hardly a cold hearted bastard to turn you away. Besides, you may keep me company.”

“None of us are leaving, uncle,” said Sherlock. “We’re here for Mycroft. Not for anything else.”

“Suit yourselves,” replied Rudy as he made himself comfortable in one of the chairs. “Anthea, let me know if Alicia or Edwin have arrived or if my security clearance has been returned. I certainly need to read on the many things I have missed.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“How and when did you meet him?” whispered Sherlock as he and Greg at the farthest away from the previous British Government who had been preoccupied with a tablet that Anthea had brought him.

“Mycroft and I attended some Whitehall gala and there he was,” replied Greg quickly, wanting to forget the encounter as soon as it had happened. “Even Mycroft was surprised that your uncle had turned up. He apparently didn’t attend even when he was employed by the government.”

“My uncle wasn’t known for pleasantries,” replied Sherlock. “Since when do you and Mycroft attend galas?”

“Since when have you actually shown any interest in your brother’s personal life?” hissed back Greg. “May I remind you the moment I tried telling you about it, you shouted DELETE at the top of your lungs.”

Sherlock frowned and eyed his uncle for a few moments. “Things will be complicated.”

“You mean about --”

Sherlock silenced him with a glare. “Mycroft was lenient when I needed something for a case. I doubt Anthea will be given access while he’s recuperating.”

“While your uncle is in charge, you mean,” said Greg, not daring to look at the oldest man in the room. The encounter with Rudy Vernet was fresh in Greg’s mind seeing as the man was sitting a few feet from him. Not only had the encounter been incredibly awkward, it was the most terrifying one that Greg had with any civil servant. True, Rudy Vernet had been retired from service for some time but his eyes, much like Sherlock and Mycroft's, told another story. A story of a deadly mind at work.

“Mycroft mentioned you hated him,” said Greg as he turned to look at Sherlock who only had eyes on his uncle. 

“I do.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“Because my uncle thought it best to offer Mycroft the opportunity to serve Queen and country,” whispered Sherlock harshly. “Mycroft wasn’t one for ambition when we were young. He only entertained that idea when our dear uncle forced it down his throat.”

“I didn’t force anything down his throat that I wasn’t going to offer you as well, William,” said Rudy from the opposite side of the room. “I distinctly remember offering you the same opportunity as your brother -- only for you to throw away your future by spending your family's fortune on illicit substances.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything more as Rudy raised his head from the table and gazed at his nephew. “Mycroft wasn’t going to waste his talents solving mediocre crimes or, heaven help us, wasting it on some mediocre medium of pen, paper, paint or canvas.”

Greg clenched his fists in annoyance. Mycroft painted beautifully and the small verses he composed when his mind wasn’t preoccupied with the state of the nation were mesmerizing. He had always asked the older Holmes why he didn’t write or paint more often but Mycroft would just shrug and say he didn’t have much time to dally in something resembling a hobby. Minding Sherlock was already one that took up most of his waking moments that weren’t dedicated to his work.

Now he knew where Mycroft got the sentiment from because Greg knew perfectly well that the small moments that he did catch the older Holmes painting or writing, it was at a time of pure joy in the other man.

“He does waste it on making sure his younger brother doesn’t get himself into trouble,” continued Rudy. “You certainly took on the challenge of never growing up, haven’t you William? Always needing to cause trouble, not just for your brother but for everyone.”

Rudy was unfazed by multiple glares aimed his way as he returned his attention to the tablet. Greg, John and Mary all turned their attention back towards the younger Holmes who had a murderous expression on his face. Doubt Sherlock would act upon it, given the circumstances -- but at least the usually stubborn and infuriating man seemed to know when to not poke a dragon.

Then again, when Sherlock Holmes does not retaliate, it only means that the person he was up against was not someone to mess with.

“I’m going to get a cup of tea,” announced Greg as he stood. Sighing with relief as nobody, not even the oldest person in the room, made to join him. As he left the room, he caught Anthea’s gaze; they both walked the same way.

“Any news?”

“Surgery is going well.” came the reply. “I tried accessing what Sherlock had brought up -- but nothing I had already given.”

“I could try the house,” offered Greg. “He always has those little notes -- never saw him throw any of those away.”

Anthea turned towards the room Greg had left and it made the older man uneasy. “What is it?”

“Something had always bugged me about that,” began Anthea. “That even Mycroft didn’t have complete clearance to it.”

“How did Mycroft feel about it?”

“Annoyed, mainly,” said Anthea, meeting Greg’s eye. “But most of the time? Worried. The same worry I’ve seen on him whenever Sherlock gets himself into trouble.”

Greg’s eyes widened at that. Mycroft was known to freeze his emotions on a whim. But even he couldn’t hide his emotions whenever his brother was in trouble. If the term ‘Sherrinford’ invoked the same reaction, Greg could only wonder what it could possibly mean.

“You think it’s familial?”

“Why would a facility elicit the same worry that Mycroft has for his brother?”

“Maybe because their uncle has threatened to send Sherlock there,” supplied Greg. Having met the man twice now, it wasn’t that far out that Rudy would imprison his own nephew if he was given due cause.

“He asks for updates, Greg,” replied Anthea. “Constantly.”

Greg sighed. It was one baffling thing after another. In all honesty, she should be discussing this with Sherlock and not him but Greg had the impression Rudy wasn’t going to let his nephew out of his sight, let alone out of surveillance. Mycroft had left what he and every single one of them thought as a dying message. Ask about Sherrinford.

There was a connection there. To Rudy, to Sherlock, hell to Mycroft as well. Greg just wished he knew what it was.

* * *

He was surprised that Rudy allowed him to be the first person escorted to Mycroft’s room after hearing that the surgery had gone well but they were going to keep Mycroft on some powerful painkillers for some time.

Yes the surgery had gone well but it wasn’t the end of the road. Mycroft was in for a very long recovery given the bullet had done a number on his body. It looked like Rudy was going to be staying for quite some time.

Mycroft looked so small laying there on the hospital bed with an oxygen mask and numerous machines and lines connected to his body. He wasn’t knowledgeable about any form of medical devices, not even a fan of medical dramas, but the heart monitor was easily recognizable and as long as it wasn’t a straight line -- Greg was relieved.

He took the chair and dragged it nearer to the bed so he could sit and hold Mycroft’s hand. It had been close. Way too close.

It’s not like they haven’t discussed the dangers of their jobs before. They had done so when they decided to pursue a relationship. Greg has faced his own shares of bullets and knives, even hammers and other deadly weapons. Mycroft never mentioned what he had actually experienced when he still did field work but the implication was there.

Maybe then just didn’t think it would actually happen given their age and experience. Both were more tied to their desks these days -- Greg was mostly handling paperwork. He delegated most things to Donovan and Dimmock since his promotion. 

But between their discussions, it was more of both of them worrying about Greg getting hurt while on the job and never Mycroft. Then again, out of the two of them, someone had to go through numerous armed men and a very terrifying Anthea to get to Mycroft.

Nobody ever thought to consider getting through Sherlock Holmes.

Because if they really did want to hurt Mycroft Holmes, that was the sure fire way.

Greg ran his unoccupied hand over his face. This was not how he had pictured their night together. It was supposed to be dinner, bed and a lazy following morning. Not this…

“How did you escape your uncle?” asked Greg as he felt more than heard Sherlock stand by his chair.

“By ignoring him,” replied Sherlock, eyes only on his brother. “John’s discussing things with the surgeon. He’ll be able to tell you more than what I can see.”

“Right,” said Greg, not wanting to point out that between him and John, especially when it comes to someone’s health, he’d rather hear it from the doctor. “What are you going to do now?”

“The usual,” replied Sherlock. “Work cases, consult with the Yard when they are out of their debt.”

Greg snorted at that but from the tone of Sherlock’s voice, it wasn’t the time to say anything more. “I will wager a guess you will be indisposed for the foreseeable future.”

“Easy enough deduction,” replied Greg, not looking away from Mycroft. Sherlock still nodded though Greg’s back was still to him. He sighed and turned to leave the room.

“Keep me informed.”

Greg finally turned to meet Sherlock’s eye and the young man held his gaze before nodding.  _ Keep me in the loop. _


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Greg was surprised at how easily he could stay by Mycroft’s side. Not that he was complaining or anything but it didn’t help that every time they met, Rudy Vernet smiled at him like he wanted to devour him.

Then again, Mycroft did say that it was the older man’s means of saying he approved. Approved of what exactly, Greg didn’t want to know or even think about at all. Frankly, he wanted nothing to do with the older man if he could. But Mycroft seemed to be fond of his eccentric uncle, so Greg could play nice.

It was three days of waiting and absolute worry on Greg’s part when he could finally breathe again. He had fallen asleep by Mycroft’s bedside once more, one hand holding on the other man’s for dear life. He hadn’t meant to but he fell asleep with his head by Mycroft’s arm.

He didn’t know how long he had been asleep but he was brought to wakefulness by a hand running through his hair, the movement slow and gentle. Greg took a few moments to savor the touch and realized who it was, raised his head slowly and was almost brought to tears as Mycroft Holmes smiled sleepily at him.

“Hello.”

“Hey, yourself,” replied Greg, grabbing Mycroft’s hand to hold in his own. “You have no idea how happy I am you’re awake.”

“How long?” came the question as Mycroft tried to sit up on the bed only to wince and stop moving all together.

“Three days since the shooting,” said Greg. He motioned with his hands to the IV. “You’re hooked up with some pretty strong stuff the past few days but I think they lessened the dose. Let me know if the pain is too much, ok?”

“Three days?” asked Mycroft in disbelief. “That’s longer than I anticipated.”

Greg snorted. They were definitely having a discussion about jumping in front of a firing gun in the future. “You’ve opened your eyes a couple of times but I don’t think you were actually in the room with me. I’m glad you are now.”

“Is Sherlock alright? Was anyone else shot?” asked Mycroft, instantly becoming more aware and Greg frowned.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes. “Just Mrs. Norbury aiming the gun at Sherlock. I know I pushed him and Mrs. Watson out of the way -- but anything after that is, rather, blank.” He opened his eyes once more. “Gregory, is Sherlock--”

“Fine, both of them,” reassured Greg quickly. “After Norbury fired, as you said, you pushed Sherlock and Mary out of the way.”

“What has happened to her?” asked Mycroft to which Greg couldn’t help but smile. Even though he was shot, he still seemed to care about the older woman. “She isn’t some dastardly villain, Gregory. She was just--”

“Scared, alone and ambitious. Still she shouldn’t have turned to the dark side, sorry for the analogy,” replied Greg as Mycroft glared at him. “My men disarmed her. Anthea handled things after. I was sort of preoccupied with more important things.” He said as he squeezed the hand he held.

“I hope I didn’t say anything that would have hurt you, my dear Gregory,” began Mycroft, catching Greg’s eye. “I’m a little peeved that I can’t remember.”

“Mycroft…” began Greg, not knowing if he should push the topic but the decision was made for him as another cry of the name startled the both of them and soon enough Rudy Vernet was strolling into the room.

“Mycroft! You certainly took your time, my boy.” said Rudy with genuine joy that his nephew was awake and talking. “Gregory here was beside himself with worry. Sherlock has been harassing anyone he could -- and don’t get me started on the lecture I had to endure from my sister.”

“Uncle,” began Mycroft as he once again tried to sit up but the two men basically pushed him back down on the bed. He winced but steadied his gaze on the older man. “Why--has something gone wrong?”

“Wrong? My boy, you were shot by someone employed by this government,” said Rudy as though it was the most obvious thing. “Of course something is wrong.”

“You need not come out of retirement because of --”

“Nonsense,” dismissed Rudy quickly. “You are going to take all the time you need to recuperate, my dear boy.” He turned to give Greg and look. “I’m sure your Detective Chief Inspector would agree with me.”

Greg wanted to protest but Mycroft’s well being was his priority right now and so when Mycroft turned to him, Greg nodded his head. “He cares about you, Mycroft. As we all do. You need to rest and let other people handle things for the time being.”

“I see why you like him,” came the remark from behind him and Greg resisted the urge to roll his eyes, turn around and confront the man. “Gregory, would you mind if I have a word with my nephew for a few minutes.”

The change in tone was obvious and Greg knew the older man was just being polite with the request. Rudy could have easily asked the man guarding the door to forcibly remove Greg from the room. Business talk then.

Greg sighed and stood, squeezing Mycroft’s hand. “I’ll be back.” He turned and gave Rudy Vernet what he thought was a convincing glare. “Don’t stress him.”

“Wouldn’t dare, Detective Chief Inspector,” replied the older man, his tone anything but respectful even though he said Greg’s full title.

Greg exchanged one last look at Mycroft but when the young man nodded, he left without a word. Mycroft then met his uncle’s eye. “Uncle, I assure you--”

“Shot, Mycroft?” raised Rudy, giving his nephew a reproachful look. “You are not an active agent! You are beyond any field work. You are not supposed to get shot and put on a hospital bed?”

“Uncle, I--”

“And I am not accepting William needing your help as an excuse,” cut off Rudy. “That damn brother of yours will be the death of you.”

“It wasn’t just that, Uncle,” said Mycroft, finally getting a word in. “Mrs. Norbury was working closely with Lady Smallwood and myself. I had to get involved.”

“You had to?” demanded Rudy. “Then why do you have Anthea? Why do we have Scotland Yard?” Rudy shook his head. “No, Mycroft. This was you not using your head once more when your sibling is concerned.”

“I wasn’t going to let Sherlock die, Uncle Rudy,” said Mycroft sharply, glaring at the older man. “You would have done the same thing if it had been Mummy.”

“I would have gotten us out of the situation before a gun would have been raised,” fired back Rudy.

“You still would have meddled with--”

“That’s not the point, Mycroft!” shouted Rudy. “You didn’t think about the consequences of your actions!”

“The consequences would be no one’s death, particularly Sherlock.” fired back Mycroft. “That was the only consequence that mattered.”

“William would be alive but you dead?” retorted Rudy. “That was a better alternative? We both know Mary Watson was just as ready to jump in front of that bullet.”

“And Mary would have died, destroying the friendship Sherlock had with Dr. Watson,” reasoned Mycroft. “I am taller than Mary Watson. The bullet wouldn’t have killed me instantly. It would be an inconvenience but--”

“You flatlined, my boy,” whispered Rudy harshly. “Do you have any idea what it felt like receiving that information? Telling Gregory that? Telling your parents?” Mycroft’s eyes widened but kept quiet, not knowing what to say to that. “For all the knowledge you and your brother possess, you cannot predict the future with your deductions.” Rudy paused to let his words sink in. “You could have died -- all because your brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Uncle…” began Mycroft but he was truly lost for words. To be perfectly honest, his uncle was right. He hadn’t thought about anything. When he saw the gun pointed at Sherlock, he acted without hesitation. “I wasn’t going to stand idly by while Sherlock was in danger.”

Rudy sighed and shook his head. “What have I always told you, Mycroft?”

“What have I always ignored from your many words of wisdom, you mean,” replied Mycroft with a glare. “Caring is not a disadvantage, uncle.”

“It is when it comes to you, Mycroft,” reprimanded Rudy. “You care too much. And don’t argue that I would have done the same thing for my sister. You know perfectly well that familial ties do not stop me from doing what is logical.”

“No, uncle. You are choosing to act differently because of your familial ties,” argued Mycroft with fervor. “If you would just listen to reason and --”

“We are not talking about Sherrinford, Mycroft.” shouted Rudy. “If you can’t handle Sherlock without getting shot or endangering yourself and others, what more if I gave you free reign over Sherrinford?”

“It’s different--”

“Spare me your compassionate arguments, Mycroft,” said Rudy with a dismissive hand. “I’ve told you time and time again that you should distance yourself from William as much as possible. I have told you many times that for all your brilliance, you are not capable of dealing with both--”

Mycroft eyed Rudy in surprise as the older man stopped mid-sentence. But Rudy quickly composed himself and glared at his nephew.

“I meant dealing with William and his blogger.” Rudy corrected himself.

“Is that why you’re here?” asked Mycroft.

“I was contacted when you flatlined,” said Rudy, finally letting himself sit down at the chair Greg previously occupied. “You know of the contingency plans we have for you, Alicia and Edwin.” he sighed and ran a tired hand over his face. “Glad as I am that circumstances aren’t as dire as it was when I was contacted, you are still going to take it easy. I’ll let the doctors inform you of the damage your body has endured -- maybe you’d listen to the experts.”

“Uncle I have had more life threatening injuries before,” began Mycroft. “I don’t even think I developed an infection from the wound--”

“Two decades ago I would have aided you in your flight away from that hospital bed, Mycroft,” said Rudy. “But the fact that your heart stopped, I would now be the first person to inform the nurses that they are allowed to restrain you to that bed or sedate you. Take your pick.”

Mycroft sighed in resignation. It was one thing to try and deny his well being in front of the doctors, but his uncle could always read him like an open book. Besides, any slight movement of any part of his body sent a jolt of pain through his spine. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Rudy sighed and patted Mycroft’s hand. “Don’t even think about it, my boy. It was high time I returned to London. Make a couple acquaintances with these up and coming politicians taking advantage of current circumstances.” Rudy snorted which made Mycroft smile. “High time someone gave them a good talking to.”

* * *

Greg supposed he should be used to having conflicting opinions whenever anyone named Holmes (or was related to them) was concerned. He had returned from being dismissed out of Mycroft’s room to find both men in easy conversation. 

Rudy Vernet may have a certain air about him but it was clear that Mycroft cared about his uncle and the feeling was mutual.

“Ahhh, Detective Chief Inspector,” the elder man said in that voice that made Greg cringed. The elder man’s smile unnerved him to no end and Mycroft’s eye roll didn’t help matters. “You needn’t worry -- he’s going to follow doctors’ orders and take the leave of absence that was deemed necessary for his recuperation.”

“I thought it was until I myself felt better and have deemed myself ready to--,” Mycroft did the correct thing of not completing that sentence as two people aimed a glare his way. “Fine, until the doctors’ have signed off on my good health.”

“No work, no phone, no laptop?” asked Greg to the oldest person in the room.

“No access to work related devices, I can assure you,” replied Rudy with a smile, as he patted Mycroft’s hand as he stood. “No, Mycroft’s sole focus must be on his recovery.” He smiled at the DCI. “I’ve asked Anthea to arrange for you to be currently assigned in helping us with a security detail.” He motioned towards Mycroft. “Someone needs to keep my nephew secured. I trust you wouldn’t want anyone else handling that job.”

Greg’s eyes narrowed as Rudy smiled at his nephew and left the room. “I really have mixed feelings about him, My.”

“He has his moments,” replied Mycroft with a soft smile as Greg sat back down on the chair and held Mycroft’s hand in his own. “Guess we finally got that uninterrupted time we’ve been wanting to have.”

Greg snorted. “Could have done without the bullet though.”

“Really?” asked Mycroft, trying not to laugh. “Here I thought you’d say my uncle.”

Rudy smiled as he heard the laughter coming from his nephew’s room. Mycroft was definitely in good hands. Now, he just needed to focus on the other members of his family.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spent my birthday writing and that is why we have this new chapter! Enjoy!

Chapter 5

“Easy.”

Greg bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at the glare sent his way.

Somehow, Mycroft managed to get his way and he was discharged and sent home after just two weeks since the incident with Norbury. But even if he could intimidate doctors and nurses, there was no way Mycroft could hide the pain he was feeling from Greg.

Greg had relented of course. He could see how utterly miserable Mycroft was in the hospital. He could just be easily recuperating from the safety of their home. Greg was glad that they had decided to move in together prior to events -- talk about perfect timing.

Besides, he’d probably snap at Mycroft if it weren’t for the patience of one Philip Tyers.

“As the good Detective Chief Inspector has mentioned Mr. Holmes, please take it easy,” replied the elederly gentleman as they helped the younger man out of the car.

“I have a walking stick,” hissed Mycroft. “And I am not afraid to use it.”

“Then use it for Christ’s sake,” mumbled Greg. “Or I’ll be forced to carry you to bed.” He glared as Mycroft shot him an amused look. “That was not a challenge.”

“As much as I would like for me to see you try,” began Mycroft with a resigned sigh. “I doubt I could handle the pain of being manhandled.”

“Oi, just because you’re being a child about this doesn’t mean I won’t be gentle,” replied Greg with a glint in his eye.

“May I remind the both of you that one is close to reaching the age of fifty and one is currently recovering from a gunshot,” came the voice of the only sensible person. “Could we please decrease the amount of impropriety and get Mr Holmes laying down before his uncle descends upon us with his famous temper.”

“I doubt he has ever channeled that temper towards you Mr. Tyers,” began Mycroft as he let Greg aid him towards the house.

“Of course he hasn’t because I know better,” replied the elderly gentleman. “I know how to avoid it.” He turned to Greg. “Something you should take heed, Chief Inspector. Better to avoid than to aggravate.”

“Now that sounded like a challenge,” said Greg with amusement once more as he helped Mycroft navigate the stairs. At the man’s glare, Greg dropped the amusement and went for sincerity. He really didn’t want to get on the other man’s bad side. “Duly noted, Mr. Tyers.”

Philip Tyers had been in service of Rudy Vernet for close to three decades, two in the field and one as a personal assistant. Rudy Vernet wasn’t much for field work, even in his younger days. He then hired people who could be his eyes and ears, Tyers had been one of them and one that Rudy saw promise. When Rudy had retired and left his home to Mycroft, the young man had asked if Tyers would be willing to stay under his employment which Tyers happily accepted.

The two of them got Mycroft settled in the bedroom, Mr. Tyers offering to prepare tea as he let Greg help Mycroft to more comfortable clothes.

“Have you heard from Sherlock?” asked Mycroft as he leaned back on the headboard, handing Greg the glass of water he had used to swallow his latest dose of medication.

“No,” replied Greg worriedly. “But John informs me that he’s been by the flat. Sherlock is without a case, doing who knows what in the kitchen that he would classify as an experiment.”

“That’s--”

“Between John and Mary,” cut off Greg, already knowing what the other man was thinking. “They can keep an eye out on Sherlock. You need to be focused on resting and in a couple of days, focusing on physical therapy.”

“Glad we have the treadmill here,” winced Mycroft, not really wanting to go back to the hospital. Luckily, Greg made the case for him and Rudy and Anthea agreed it was more secure having him recover at home than in any medical facility.

“Glad your uncle decided to use the flat,” countered Greg with a smile which made Mycroft roll his eyes. “Would you prefer his company over mine?”

“You know the answer to that, Gregory,” replied Mycroft with a pointed look. Then sighed as he stared up above. “It sort of feels like my life has rewinded and I’m back to being a field agent and invalid while my uncle cleans up after my mess.”

“Woah, first,” began Greg, taking one of Mycroft’s hands into his own and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “There is no mess to clean up. Your uncle is here because of some stupid protocol. He’s basically just waltzing around Whitehall temporarily holding whatever job title you actually hold.”

He let those words sink in before continuing, keeping his eyes locked with Mycroft’s. “Second, I know you feel like an invalid now but you are not. You are just used to being the one taking care of other people and it’s a complete foreign concept for you when you’re the one being cared for.”

“I--”

“Not being a burden, My,” replied Greg with a smug smile, knowing perfectly well that was what the other man was thinking. “I want to take care of you. I like taking care of you.”

Mycroft sighed as he raised their clasped hands and placed a kiss on the back of Greg’s hand. “I’m sorry...I’m not used to being fussed over.”

“No fuss whatsoever,” replied Greg.

* * *

Greg groaned as his mobile vibrated. Looking over his shoulder, he was relieved that Mycroft was still asleep. He was told that the medication they had him on was strong. Greg’s heart sank when he saw who was calling and immediately stood and went to the hall before answering.

“Please tell me I do not have to leave and fish Sherlock out of the Thames,” said Greg as he answered the call from John.

“No,” replied John and Mary, telling Greg that he was on speaker.

“As much as I love hearing from you,” said Greg with annoyance. “You do know what time it is, right?”

“Your uncle-in-law decided to wake us up after we finally managed to get Rosie to sleep,” began Mary.

“We’re just returning the favor,” said John with mirth as Greg ran a tired hand over his face.

“What did Sherlock do now?”

“Leave his flat.” replied John. “And apparently that counts as a national emergency.”

Greg sighed in annoyance once more. “And what exactly is he doing?”

“Don’t know,” replied John. “He didn’t call or leave a message.”

“New case?” offered Mary. “Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait for morning.”

“So what was the purpose of this call then?” replied Greg through gritted teeth. “I was finally having a good night’s--”

“Has Mycroft ever given you any indication that Sherlock was not his only sibling?”

The question gave Greg pause, his mind instantly going to the conversation he had with Anthea while Mycroft was having surgery.

“What did Rudy say?”

“That Sherlock is a security concern and the fact that he was Sherlock and Mycroft’s uncle did nothing to influence that,” said John.

“And to quote, ‘It didn’t the last time with their other--’” finished Mary. “He cut himself off before finishing but we could all probably guess what the next word would be even if our deduction skills aren’t Holmes’ level.”

Greg leaned on the wall by Mycroft’s bedroom. Could it be possible? “But why would they keep it a secret? Why wouldn’t they share that bit of information.”

“When has Sherlock and Mycroft ever shared any information with regards to their family?” replied John. “Maybe this is what Mycroft meant with regards to Sherrinford.”

Greg sighed, turning to eye the man still fast asleep in the room. “You think I should bring it up?”

“Still haven't remembered?”

“No,” replied Greg, walking over to sit by Mycroft on the bed. The other man seemed peaceful in his sleep. Greg was glad for that. The last thing he wanted was for Mycroft to be having nightmares of being shot.

“I don’t think Mycroft is the one we should be asking,” came Mary’s voice. “Anthea did say that even Mycroft didn’t have clearance.”

Whatever Sherrinford was about -- its central force was someone not to mess with. Rudy Vernet held all the answers but Greg wouldn’t be the idiot to take the man on by himself. Greg wished with all his might that Sherlock had a good plan.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” began Mycroft as Greg helped him to the car.

“It’s a couple of days, a week at most, at your parents’ house or a month of them staying in London,” explained Greg. “Take your pick.”

Mycroft groaned, not from the pain his body was feeling, but at the sheer thought of the constant presence of not only his parents but his uncle for a month. The mere idea is already giving him nightmares.

“This is your fault you know,” began Greg as he helped Mycroft into the car. “Anthea said she could handle it.”

“The fact that she told me of the treaty meant that--”

“She was just giving you an update.” replied Greg. They’ve been having this discussion on repeat since he caught the other man doing some work on his personal laptop. How Mycroft managed to hack into a secured network was of course something that shouldn’t have surprised Greg -- the fact that the man was willing to do it on his own account was just amusing.

“But Sherlock--”

“Whatever Sherlock is planning with Culverton Smith, I already told Donovan and Dimmock to be on the lookout,” said Greg as he circled the car and went into the driver’s side.

“But--”

“Pretty sure even the berk won’t do anything drastic that would make him not celebrate his birthday,” said Greg as he started the car. “Hey, wasn’t this sort of what we wanted?”

“Staying at my parents’?” asked Mycroft in disbelief.

“A couple of days to ourselves,” said Greg with a roll of his eyes. “I know you own a house near your parents’ home.”

“I do,” began Mycroft. “Anthea has someone maintain it. Not sure though what it looks like and--”

“Good thing I asked Anthea to air it out a couple of days ago,” replied Greg with a wink. At Mycroft’s amused look, he continued. “Oh I’ve been bothering Anthea for any means of escape since your uncle returned. Don’t think this just benefits you. Not to lower anyone’s cooking, but your mother sure knows her way around the kitchen.”

* * *

Greg smiled as he watched Siger and Mycroft walk to the back garden of the Holmes’ residence while he stayed to wash up with Violet. As much as Sherlock took up from his mother, Mycroft did the exact same thing with his father. 

“I hope my eldest hasn’t tested your infinite patience, Greg,” began Violet as they worked together in washing the dishes. “Mikey was always too stubborn about his well being. There was a time when his classmates had to call us because my genius of a son thought it best not inform his parents that he had been brought to A&E twice.”

“Let me guess, there was an important test or lecture that he couldn’t possibly miss,” said Greg and Violet smiled at the man that finally was able to crack through the icy exterior of her eldest.

“On the dot,” replied Violet as she watched her son and husband through the window. “It may look like I favor Sherlock a lot but I love both my sons immensely.” She turned and regarded Greg with a soft smile. “I’m glad you two found each other.”

“I’m glad he let me in,” replied Greg with a knowing smile. “Your sons are the two most remarkable people I’ve ever met, Violet. They’re just a tough study.”

“Oh you have no idea,” replied Violet with a chuckle. “You should have seen them growing up. Sherlock with his pirate obsession and Mycroft always watching out for the two of them.”

“Two?” asked Greg all of a sudden, glad he didn’t drop the plate he was currently rinsing.

“Sherlock and his friend Victor,” replied Violet with a sad smile. “They always ran around our old home with pirate hats and wooden swords. Mycroft would always look out for them, just in case they wandered off.”

“Right.” replied Greg, hoping his tone lacked anything noteworthy. He was talking to a Holmes, and a Vernet at that. And to think he had thought Violet let it slip that Mycroft did have another sibling. There was something in her tone of voice however, a hint of sadness and by the faraway look on her face, Greg knew there was more to it than what was already said.

He was about to try and approach the subject when his mobile rang. He groaned when he saw John’s name flashing on the screen.

“Oh dear,” he heard Violet say from behind him.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” tried Greg as he dried his hands and answered his phone. “John.”

“How fast can you drive back to London?”

Greg schooled his features as he smiled at Violet but headed out of the kitchen to the living room. “You’re joking right.” He hissed as soon as he was out of earshot.

“Yeah, well I don’t think Sherlock thought his plan through,” replied John. “He’s 90% sure Smith won’t press charges.”

“Press charges for what?”

“Well…” began John and Greg resisted the urge to hang up on him. “You should probably sit down.”

“John.”

“Yeah, Sally - be with you in a sec. Don’t worry I can give you a very helpful statement. I am a doctor.” said John in the background.

“Statement? John you better start to make sense or --”

“Oh hey, I’ve got Greg -- maybe you can---” John’s words were cut off as he heard a commotion on the other end of the line.

“Greg -- the bloody Freak tried to kill Culverton Smith!”

* * *

Greg ran a tired hand over his face as he left the room. He felt disgusting just by sharing a bloody room with the man. He was surprised to see Mary standing by his office.

“I was told to offer you a good dinner back at home where you can witness the dressing down of one Sherlock Holmes,” she offered with a smile as Greg rolled his eyes. “John is helping him get discharged and also assuring the doctors that Sherlock won’t drug himself to death.”

“Which he has done countless times prior,” snorted Greg as he tossed the file to Sally’s desk. “I should probably head back--”

“Pretty sure Mycroft will have all our heads if we let you drive back at this time of night,” said Mary ushering him out. “Come on, John’s already told me to prepare the guest bedroom for you and Sherlock.”

Greg stopped and turned to her with a raised eyebrow. “Rudy sweeped Baker Street. After the little show at the mortuary, Rudy believed his nephew to be using again and had agents sweeping the entire place. Pretty sure they planted more bugs that would be enough to spy on an entire city.”

“Great,” mumbled Greg as he led Mary to his car and they headed for the Watsons’ home. “With this done, what has Sherlock planned on working next?”

“If you’re asking about Sherrinford, he’s still at a dead end there,” answered Mary. “As much as we all do not want to add to Mycroft’s stress at the moment, we might have to ask him about it in the near future.”

“Maybe we could ask someone else,” replied Greg, remembering his conversation with Violet before being thrown a curveball by the youngest Holmes and had to drive all the way back to London to bail him out. “Violet had a faraway look in her eyes when we were talking about their childhood.”

Greg paused as he kept his eyes on the road. “Whether there is another sibling that has died or never been born, I’m a little hesitant to bring it up to any of them -- if I’m being honest.” He paused once more as he made a turn towards the Watsons’ street. “And the fact that My has no recollection of his message whatsoever, gives me pause.”

Greg saw Mary nod her head in his peripheral vision. “Besides, this is Sherlock Holmes we’re talking about. There’s no way he’s going to take the easy route in solving a case.” began Mary with a small smile. “He’s definitely going to try and solve it on his own.”

Greg had to laugh at that. No truer words had ever been spoken. “How’s the nanny search going?”

“Hopefully we didn’t scare away the candidate that we were hoping to hire,” said Mary as she recounted the day’s events to Greg. “John was more interested in Mrs. Hudson’s car than trying to reassure the woman that the level excitement wasn’t always that high when it came to Rosie’s daily activities.”

“Pretty sure she’ll still take on the job,” replied Greg as he parked in front of the Watsons’ home. As they got out of the car, they could already hear John’s voice resonating from inside and Sherlock’s equally bored yet loud response.

“I put good money on my flat being immensely quieter,” replied Greg with a wince as John once again began to shout. “Won’t Rosie be bothered by all the noise?”

“Oh Molly and Mrs. Hudson offered to take her for the night,” explained Mary. “John and I thought the case might take a bit longer so we made sure to plan ahead.”

“What was your plan for that?” asked Greg as the shouting grew in volume.

“Fish and chips.”

* * *

Mycroft felt a bit uneasy having the house all to himself. He was glad that Gregory wasn’t going to try and drive all the way back from London.

Anthea, through some persuasion of chocolates and theater tickets, finally gave him an update on Sherlock’s activities. He was alarmed at the lengths Sherlock went with to take down Smith but at least his brother was safe and another madman was put to prison.

Trust Sherlock to continue slaying dragons while he is invalid.

His parents had offered to let him sleep in his old bedroom but Mycroft preferred to head back to the empty house he owned near his parents’ home. Not that he didn’t like spending time with his parents, their constant worry was just driving him insane. He knew it was only natural for them to worry about his well being and he understands where they are coming from.

Mycroft just didn’t like to make other people worry, especially when they were worried about him. His parents should be more worried about Sherlock and his usually shenanigans. Heaven knows, he was a walking bundle of nerves given his brother’s most recent case. At least Sherlock spared their parents a hospital visit on his own bloody birthday--

A soft sound reached his ear and Mycroft turned to the opened window. The uneasy feeling he had was growing immensely but he shook it off as part of his growing worry over Sherlock’s wellbeing after yet another (albeit planned) overdose. He stood from his chair by the fire and closed the window. 

He peered out and the surrounding area was quiet. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Maybe he was more tired than he wanted to admit.

He walked back to the chair but instead of sitting, took his cup of tea and drained its contents before turning to head over to the kitchen to wash the cup and prepare for bed.

But as he moved to head to the kitchen, his vision turned and everything spun to its side. He barely registered letting go of the cup and leaning to his right. He waited for the inevitable breaking of china and his head hitting the floor with a loud thump...but none came.

He blinked, trying to clear his vision from the blur he was seeing but nothing seemed to focus.

“There, there brother…”

A figure hovered above him but Mycroft had no energy to move let alone to defend himself.

“It’s my turn to take care of you, Mikey.”

He tried desperately to clear his vision. To make him see past the growing darkness already appearing at the corner of his eyes. One last blink and his eyes widened…

“.ur...you…”

The figure smiled softly but Mycroft didn’t know what happened after as darkness enveloped him.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Greg had insisted he leave at the very first thing the following morning. Mary had first tried to convince him to stay for breakfast but he was eager to get back to Mycroft. He didn’t voice it out but he’d been having a strange feeling all night that basically screamed at him to get back to Mycroft ASAP.

He broke more traffic laws that he could remember and only slowed down when he parked by Mycroft’s house. The house seemed quite, already triggering every warning signal in Greg’s mind. Mycroft should have been up and done with breakfast by now.

Greg immediately went inside the house and headed for the bedroom -- only to stop short at what he saw.

Mycroft was fast asleep. He was on Greg’s side of the bed, but Greg immediately understood that Mycroft must have sought him out in the middle of the night. Usually Mycroft would clutch Greg’s pillow, laying on his side but this time Mycroft just laid on his back, must be due to his recent injury. He was still wearing the same clothes from the previous day and must have collapsed in exhaustion. 

Greg quietly sat by his side and ran a hand over Mycroft’s ruffled hair. The younger man was sleeping deeply, must be due to his medication. Greg didn’t have the heart to wake him. God knows Mycroft needed the rest.

He sighed and stood, shrugging off his coat and heading back to the kitchen. He could probably prepare something that could easily be eaten for either breakfast or lunch. He stopped upon seeing the state of the sitting room. There was a saucer on the table but the cup was on its side by the floor. No spill but the position was odd.

Greg turned to the bedroom then back to the living room. Mycroft would never leave things in such a manner before heading to bed. He must have been pretty tired or too drugged up to have remembered.

He picked up the cup and frowned. But why was the cup on the floor? If Mycroft had dropped it, why wasn’t it cracked or broken?

A part of Greg chastised him for thinking too much but the detective in him thinks there was something here worth investigating.

Regardless, he wasn’t going to wake up Mycroft just because of a hunch. He quickly went to the kitchen to clean up and make something for them both. Whatever happened last night, it could wait. Mycroft needed his rest...but maybe he could ask a medical expert.

* * *

“No, I think you should just let him sleep,” said John as he rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes. Mary had gone out to do some errands. He on the other hand was on Sherlock watch. The detective was sent back to his room for a nap on doctor’s orders. “Given the medication he’s on, and the fact that he was shot, he could use the rest.”

“That’s what I thought too,” replied Greg over the phone. “It’s just--”

“He may have gotten tired,” answered John. “You said he was still wearing his clothes from yesterday? Well, I guess he was lucky to have collapsed on the bed instead of the floor and that would have probably made you overreact.”

“I wouldn’t have done anything drastic.”

“Just have phoned an ambulance,” replied John. “What did Violet say?”

“That Mycroft seemed pretty tired when they dropped him off,” answered Greg with a sigh. “I guess I just thought he’d be back on his feet like nothing happened.”

“It’s never nice to see someone we care about hurting or recovering,” began John. “We just have to remember not to let them push themselves.”

“Oh I know about that,” said Greg. “Why do you think I dragged him all the way out here? So I could make sure he wouldn’t lock himself in a room and work.”

“Speaking off,” said John. “Did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Sherlock’s birthday is today.”

“You didn’t know? You’ve known him how long--”

“The woman texted him.”

Greg paused and knew John couldn’t see him but Greg smiled innocently to himself. “Um, right. Well John--”

“Oh bloody -- you do know!” shouted John over the phone.

“In my defense, I signed something that prevents me from talking about certain things.”

“I am definitely having words with Mycroft when he’s back on his feet,” said John. “We’re treating Sherlock for cake later.”

“Let me know how that goes,” said Greg with a smile.

“Hey, I know you’re a worrier,” began John. “But Mycroft will be fine--if anyone needs to take things slow, it’s him.”

“Thanks, John,” said Greg. “If you manage to force Sherlock in a funny hat, I need pictures.”

“You got it.”

Greg ended the call and sighed. Mycroft’s been sleeping for half the day already but John did say to just let him sleep.

With a sigh, Greg roamed around the house, not really knowing what he was looking for but something in him just knew he had to do a sweep of the property. He was still having that feeling that something was not right.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary though as he walked around the house. That was until he went and found a well on the property. Mycroft had mentioned it in passing but that it had been boarded up by the previous owner.

The well wasn’t the thing out of the ordinary. No, it was the pirate hat and small wooden sword left by the well that caught his eye.

Maybe because his thoughts were on the birthday boy but Greg could suddenly imagine a young Sherlock Holmes wearing the hat and playing with the sword, ordering his older brother to walk the plank.

Greg’s smile dropped as he turned the hat over and a name tag was sewn on the inside.

_ S. Holmes _

Why on earth would something from Sherlock’s childhood be all the way out here? Was it in Mycroft’s home and he brought it out here to reminisce? No, Violet said that they had dropped off Mycroft after dinner and Greg doubted Mycroft would go all the way out here at the middle of the night.

He turned and picked up the wooden sword. There were initials carved into it but the first set, V.T., seemed to have been crossed out and replaced with E.H.

_ E.H. _ ?

The V.T. could be the Victor that Violet had mentioned before. But the H? H as in Holmes? Greg turned back to the house.

He knew Mycroft’s full name. No initial of an ‘E’ whatsoever. It couldn’t have belonged to Siger or Violet--

Greg clutched the handle of the sword tighter--was this his proof? Was there really another Holmes sibling?


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

“Here.”

Mycroft smiled as Greg entered their room and handed him a cup of tea. He still felt a bit off even after he had slept through half the day already.

“Thank you,” replied Mycroft as he gently sat up on the bed to take the cup of tea. “I feel a bit out of sorts for some reason…”

“Maybe it’s your body’s way of telling you to actually take it easy,” said Greg with a pointed look. “You haven’t actually slowed down even though you got shot.”

“I have,” said Mycroft defensively.

“Not going to the office isn’t slowing down at all, My,” said Greg as he took the cup from the other man. “That’s a person’s usual end of the day routine.”

“Alright I conceded that I may still be overdoing things,” began Mycroft as he let himself slump backwards. “I just hate being fussed over when there really is no need.”

“Oh there is a need mister,” said Greg in the sternest voice he could muster. “You flatlined. I’m sure you don’t remember but that was a very terrifying moment for all of us, Mycroft.” He paused and eyed the other man. “And don’t even think for a second that it was better if we were not informed of that fact. We care about your wellbeing, damn it. You care so much for all of us. Why is it so hard for you to believe that we care about you just as much?”

Mycroft sighed as he reached forward to grasp Greg’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

Greg sighed as he held on to Mycroft’s hand tighter and the younger man continued. “I told you before, I’m used to being the one worrying and not the other way around.” He paused and caught Greg’s eye. “As you pointed out, I care about all of you and that’s my primary thought. Doing all of this must be taking a toll on--”

“Don’t you think we feel the same way?” asked Greg as he tried and failed to stop his mind from going back to that date, to that aquarium. The most helpless he had felt in all his years. Mycroft on the floor, bleeding, saying his final words.

Final words his love couldn’t remember and it was proving difficult to ignore as the days passed.

“Remember when you said at the beginning,” began Greg anew, meeting Mycroft’s eye. “That you’re not really practiced in the area of relationships.” Mycroft nodded but the confusion in his eyes was evident. “Well, caring for each other is just one of the topics you’re gonna have to revise for.”

“Oh really?” asked Mycroft, sensing the playfulness in Greg’s tone.

“Yup,” said Greg, popping the p at the end much to Mycroft’s disdain. “Might even have a practical exam afterwards.”

Mycroft did roll his eyes at that. “And here I thought I was supposed to be resting and taking things slow.”

“Who said anything about you moving?” challenged Greg with a raised eyebrow. “You, Mr. Holmes, have no imagination.”

As Mycroft laughed and Greg enjoyed the peace, the elephant in the room (rather the pirate sword in the other room) could wait another day. 

* * *

Greg had the best couple of days he could have ever imagined. It had just been the two of them. Talking, discussing books and shows, cooking, eating and some other activities that Mycroft’s physician might not have approved of.

Yes, they saw Siger and Violet for lunch but Mycroft’s parents were a joy to be around with, especially when he got to learn a lot of both siblings’ childhood. 

Of course the peace and happiness wasn’t going to last. 

It was his fault, afterall. He had texted John of his EH discovery. But when the doctor did not reply, Greg’s sense of worry probably called the moth to the flame.

They had just returned from dinner with Siger and Violet when Greg’s phone vibrated with a text. Surprisingly it was from Sherlock.

_ Call John when alone. ASAP. _

_ SH _

Greg delayed doing so until Mycroft was in the shower. As much as he despised keeping secrets, it wasn’t a topic he was ready to raise to his partner just yet. If he could delay the inevitable then so be it.

The call was answered after just one ring.

“Took you long enough Gilbert,” came Sherlock’s annoyed voice and then a scuffle as Greg imagined John trying to get a hold of his mobile back from the taller man until another person stepped in.

“Apologies, Greg,” came Mary’s voice. “Just wanted to give you a heads up in case the plan went sideways and we’ll all be shipped out to some government facility.”

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose. “Explain before I do anything drastic.”

“Putting you on speaker. Boys, let’s not waste Greg’s precious time.”

“Greg,” came John’s voice. “Mystery solved.”

“What?” whispered Greg harshly, looking back and making sure he was by himself. “How?”

“Secret sibling decided to make herself known.”

“Her?” Oh this was one surprise after another.

“She was posing as our nanny-to-be,” came Mary’s voice. “Probably had no intention of actually doing the nanny part but just wanted to, and I quote ‘A bit of reconnaissance work’. Which to be fair, was actually pretty smart.”

“You spoke to her?” asked Greg. “What did she want? Where has she been all this time?”

“Well,” began Mary in a voice that told Greg he should probably sit down but there he was by the kitchen sink so leaning on the counter was his best option. “It was more like held at gunpoint while she talked but you get the gist.”

“WHAT?”

“She just shot me with a tranquilizer, Greg. No worries,” assured Mary.

“No worries my arse,” replied John. “Apparently she also visited Sherlock under the guise of Smith’s daughter.”

“Why?” was the only thing that Greg could say with all the information he was trying to process. “I mean, why now? What does she want?”

“Didn’t really say,” said Mary. “Just said pass a message which I’m guessing was her being alive to Sherlock.”

“And what does Sherlock have to say about any of this?” asked Greg, hoping that the younger man would take the hint.

There was a pause and then a sigh, Greg picturing both Watsons looking at the consulting detective.

“I don’t remember her.”

“You what?”

“Have you gone deaf since sleeping with my brother Godric? I said I do not remember her. But we can all assume this has something to do with Sherrinford. You said that Anthea mentioned that the word invoked the same reaction in my brother as though he was getting news of my drug habits.”

“Yes but it--”

“You also told John that you found a pirate sword with what could be the initials of another members of the Holmes’ family but failed to mention what those initials are.”

“I was going to ask your brother first. It could have been from a cousin because, as I mentioned to John, the first initials carved were scratched out and then replaced with new ones. The owner could have been adopted to the Holmes family. A cousin perhaps and--”

“What were the first set of initials?”

“V.T. Violet mentioned a Victor--”

“No recollection.”

“Violet said he was your friend and that you played pirates together.”

“I never had a friend--”

“That you know of,” came John’s voice. “You just admitted that your earliest memory was from seven years old and above. Nothing younger.”

“That is irrelevant. Gilbert what were the other initials.”

“E.H.”

The collective gasped from the other end told him everything he needed to know.

“What’s her name?” asked Greg when it was apparent that no one knew how to proceed from there.

“Eurus.” came Mary’s reply. “Her name is Eurus.”

Eurus.

Of course. Had to be on the same level of uniqueness as Sherlock and Mycroft. 

“What’s the plan?” asked Greg. “You want me to bring it up?”

“No.” came Sherlock’s reply. “We are heading to the source.”

“Sherlock said that Mycroft and his uncle are both terrified of clowns,” began John. “A man like Rudy Vernet isn’t going to answer truthfully not unless his life depended on it.”

Greg groaned this time. Mary’s initial answer earlier made so much sense. “You better terrify him that his only option is actually talking to you and not shipping your arses somewhere.”

“If he ships us to Sherrinford then all is still according to plan,” offered John and Greg rolled his eyes. “We told you what Rudy Vernet said, Greg. Sherrinford started with Rudy. He has all the answers.”

“Fine,” said Greg in exasperation. “When have you ever stopped a plan even with my reservations.”

“You’re just mad you can’t be there to witness it,” said Mary, which made Greg roll his eyes but smile.

“Guilty. Mr. Tyers is out until the remainder of the week so you’d better act now.”

“Already working on it,” said Sherlock.

“You better keep me in the loop about this--bastard!” Greg said as the call ended. He resisted the urge to throw his phone, knowing full well that the damage was going to be on him rather than the damage he wanted to inflict on one Sherlock Holmes.

Because he had one last question, what was he going to do about Mycroft? It’s not like he was ready to spring the knowledge to the elder Holmes after the man had finally taken the advice of taking it easy. Mycroft was sure going to propose they head back to London ASAP.

Greg sighed and ran a tired hand over his face. He could delay this. He didn’t have anything much to go on anyway, besides a name. After Sherlock learned everything from his uncle, then he’d tell Mycroft. No use getting the man worked up without all the information. At least one mystery was solved.

E.H.

“Eurus.”

A loud crash startled Greg from his thoughts as he turned only to freeze on the spot as a pale Mycroft clung to the archway to the kitchen as though he had seen a ghost. The tray of their tea from the living room scattered on the floor.

“How...Gregory, where did you hear that name?”

_ Shit. _

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: MGLojo  
> Tumblr: wierdogal


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